


In this Prairie

by trashpocket



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Just my damn feelings man, Mild shipping, Minor Character Deaths, Missing Scene, Musing, World Hopping, about the future, book three, the amber spyglass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket
Summary: The realization of it came easy to her — or maybe it wasn’t a realization, but a small fact that floated about her, like leaves in the air she hadn’t noticed until someone pointed it out —look, look, notice it!— a revelation long coming. It made sense of course, but with everything that had happened around her, how could she?________________________________Just small musings and missing scenes added in to help me fix my thoughts and fight through the tears of The Amber Spyglass.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	In this Prairie

**Author's Note:**

> So, hello! This is my way of welcoming myself into the fandom! Hi, nice to meet you!
> 
> So, I haven't finished The Amber Spyglass yet, but guessing from the existence of this fic alone, I'm already being destroyed by it ahead of time!!! I've spent the last few days waking up, reading the chapters before my google meet classes, and have been crying my eyes out. 
> 
> I hope all of you graciously welcome my ass into this fandom, because I've fallen in love, and just can't stop falling! Anyways, here it is! English isn't my first language, so there may be a few spelling mistakes or grammatical errors, but go ahead! Sooner or later, I might be doing some HDM fanart, and you might find me on my tumblr of the same name! Whoo! Anways, go forth! 
> 
> Muwah!

The realization of it came easy to her — or maybe it wasn’t a realization, but a small fact that floated about her, like leaves in the air she hadn’t noticed until someone pointed it out — _look, look, notice it!_ — a revelation long coming. It made sense of course, but with everything that had happened around her: her dear Roger, the Gyptians, Svalbard, Cittagaze, Will’s world, Will himself, and the cascade of events and emotions, an amalgam of the prophecy that lead her to her task now ( _in the land of the dead, feet scraping, thousands of souls marching, the wings of the harpies whispering a broken flutter in the lull_ ) — how could she have noticed it? 

It was a simple thing that John Parry had said: that he couldn’t live in different worlds — that _people_ could never leave their worlds and sought out life elsewhere, for they would fall ill, and perish. _Build the republic of heaven in their own world_. 

“We’re nearly there,” Will told her reassuringly, though beyond them, a chasm still lay ahead in the caves. But this was Will and this was Lyra Silvertongue, _the liar_ , and she trusted him the most — a telling fact and truth. “Come on now, don’t look behind you again — like Roger said, you ain’t dead. I won’t let that happen.” 

The heart in her chest warmed with those words, a bit dulled by Pantalaimon’s absence, but she felt it still. “I know, I know — I en’t looking back. That was — oh, Will, I’m more terrified than before. But I have you, and I know you won’t let that happen again, but — ” 

Will looked back at her with his strong face, pulled over by hunger and exhaustion, but still Will, and still strong — ever fierce and faithful. “What?” he said, “What is it? Don’t you trust me? We’re here now, with Roger, with your Lee Scoresby, with my father,” the named ghosts walked with them, “I brought you here, didn’t I? So what’s wrong? I won’t let you die, don’t make me say it again.” 

Lyra saw the naked worry and slight anger in his face through the dimness, and she absently held his hand tighter as they stumbled over a patch of large stones, pebbles stumbling away beneath them. As Will pulled her up, she shook her head. 

“No, no, I don’t doubt you, Will! You’ve done so much, I could never doubt you!” Tears built up in her eyes as she stood closer to him, walking still, as Lady Salmakia rested on her shoulder, Tialys flying ahead every now and then. “I’m just...when we see the end, when all of this is over, right? We’ll have to return to our worlds, right? We can’t stay — can’t live in different worlds, we’d be…” 

Will now realized her plight, and without having to tell her how much the revelation hurt him, he held her hand tighter, throat seizing up. 

They’ve been through so much, that their fates and the simple threads of their beings were finely interwoven, like threads and atoms, held tightly by their mere existence — joined and always a whole, that they had forgotten they’ve lived a short lifetime apart. They’ve forgotten how to exist without the other, and now that _they were_ they couldn’t fathom the fact of what they _had been_. 

Lyra couldn’t count how many times they’ve done this, but they looked at each other once again, and they saw the expression on the other’s face, clearer than any tapestry, any face of a cliff, or the stars in an open sky. In this world of the dead, it was Will and it was Lyra, and they were alive, and they were whole. 

Will looked away first, blinking and shouldering on, pulling Lyra close by. “I don’t know either...when the end comes...I don’t know what’ll happen to us — but I…I’ll take the knife, I’ll visit you, oh — I don’t know, I’ll try. But the knife; it can’t be used for my gain, but —” 

“It’s alright,” Lyra said for him, as No-name fluttered ahead of them, her heart gracious for the winged wretch that had saved her. It was ever more gracious with the fact that Will would tear the worlds apart for her. “You don’t have to say it, Will. I know. I’m thankful. But it hurts — this _not knowing_ , but I don’t want to think about it anymore...I got no strength left in me to cry about it. Actually — I _won’t_. Not until I see Pan again.” 

And she would, and Will would meet his daemon as well. 

Will fell silent and walked with her still, heart buoyed by the fact that even with the unknown, staying here, walking together was enough for now.

They chased the end of the world ahead of them, the dead marching behind their steps as fate brought them nearer to war. They would not wonder about being separated by worlds apart anymore — not now, when so much still laid before them, and they had yet to taste the end. 

* * *

And the thought never resurfaced until they saw the two hissing cats, and that _oh_ so terrible feeling of nausea, coldness, and death lingered too close by, reaching its merciless hand into the hollow of their souls and _tugging_ and _pulling._ It was so empty, unimaginable, and grievous, that her steps faltered as they ran through the pelting rain, the fire, the fallen bodies — 

“Run, my dear! Hurry now!” Lee Scoresby, even in death, was so brave and so warm, Lyra wished she could have kissed every inch of his face before he were mere vapors, being held by his own will — but he held the specter in his grasp. She could not touch him. 

“Oh thank you, thank you, I love you so much! My dear, _thank you_ !” She had no time for tears, because in her arms right now was a piece of the world, the universe — and no, it wasn’t Pan — it was _Will’s_ daemon, and across the battlefield, Will held Pan — and their eyes had met once again, in that slow motion clarity. Just them. Just now. 

And before them was another world: a vast prairie, so quiet, so dear, so _heavenly_ , nestled in the warmth of safety, her every orifice screamed for her to be there, and with a sprint, her and Will tumbled into another world, their souls, their beings, in each other’s hands. 

In a sense, they held each other as they turned away from the world behind them. 

They collapsed in a heap of tired muscles and limbs, so empty from the travel, the desperation. Their bodies thrummed in electric adrenaline, and the stars above — so silent, and reassuring. They closed their eyes, and one last thought in Lyra’s mind was: _are we safe? Is this the end?_

It wasn’t, for when the morning came, Lyra and Will’s daemons were gone. They could feel them, close by, somewhere here in this universe, but they weren’t _there_ with them right now. Probably ran away from them in distrust and vengeance. She could not blame them for doing so. 

Lyra sat up and stayed still for a moment, with Will resting beside her, his hand bleeding terribly and clothes ragged and hair messy. She did not want to wake him up, or stay staring for too long lest he wake up. But she did, however, check to see if he was okay; checking the bandages on his hand, the bloodmoss. She sighed in relief at his steady breathing, and lightly fluttered her hand over his hair, like she would with Pan when he was silent and resting on her knee — before snatching her hand back violently, her heart beating too fast. _That was a bit rude of her. Best to not do it again._

Later after she washed in a nearby stream, and Will was awake where she had left him, scratching the names of Chevalier Tialys and Lady Salmakia onto a stone with as much precision and respect for the proud and brave Gallivespians (Lyra’s heart momentarily ached at the thought of them as Will set the little headstones on the graves she had dug for them). She sat there, staring at the motion of his hands, feeling strange and bereft with no urgency, no panic from a war they had just walked into. 

“I found a stream, over there, if you need a wash,” she pointed in its direction at a small glade of grass, yellow and fluttering with bugs. “The water’s refreshing and good. Too bad we don’t have a flask or some canteen, or anything.” 

Will nodded, face lax with relief. “It’s okay, we can manage, somehow. Then maybe we should get moving afterwards. Staying here could be dangerous. Come on, rest for a bit —”

“Will...” Lyra cut him off, and when Will looked back at her, she had no words. Nothing. Everything was so calm now; so peaceful and safe, but in her head, a torrent of thoughts kept swirling, kept occupying her, that she felt her mouth was too slow to move. What was she supposed to say? 

She searched for a bit, and said, “Our daemons...Lady Salmakia, Tialys…” she could only say their names in mere whispers, not knowing _why_ and feeling it was a grave offense if she spoke about them out loud. But she knew who they all were. At the moment, they were all gone. 

Will Parry, somehow, understood her vague words; in a way revealing how much he knew about her, just as she knew him. And as Will stood tall, looking at the other in clarity again — the scratches on their cheeks, their thinness, and the bare uncertainty, worry, _strength_ , he assured her. 

“It’s alright, I’m still all here. I’ll _be_ right here. What about _you_?”

She nodded resolutely, brow reflecting the strength in Will’s gaze. A fraction of his fierceness was in her ( _that one would’ve thought in amusement_ ) that Lyra must’ve taken it from Will when she held his daemon and they fled to this world. 

“I am, I am,” she assured him. “I’ll be here too. We’re still here together. We’ll keep going.” 

“Good,” he offered her a smile, and her heart jumped before it was soothed. . 

They would keep going, and Lyra, despite not knowing this world, not knowing what would come next, not knowing how she and Will were growing up, changing, morphing; _clinging_ , she was thankful that the end was not yet near. 

Despite all the death, and the blood, and the monstrosities she’s faced, she was thankful. 

She was Lyra Silvertongue, the liar, and she was thankful she had Will Parry, the Knife Bearer. 

(And the world was not changing — for this change was _fated, in motion_ — and the fact was that _they_ were changing, and if the end was here, in this prairie, with Will and their demons nearby, she didn’t mind it. They would keep going, till they would never drift apart.)

  
  



End file.
